


The Shattering of One's Mind

by Couldbeamidget



Series: The Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Euros as middle child, Evil machinations, Gen, Helpless parents, Kid Mycroft, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft-centric, POV Mycroft Holmes, Protective Mycroft, Switch in birth order, The death of a friend, The start of Mycroft's political career, Uncle Rudy as mentor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12777762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Couldbeamidget/pseuds/Couldbeamidget
Summary: *TEMPORARILY on hiatus until I finish A Freudian Slip*Mycroft and why he is who he is.





	1. Hello, Little Brother

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock Holmes is not my creation. He belongs to the BBC and Arthur Conan Doyle
> 
> Slight AU - Here, Sherlock is the youngest sibling.

  William was born on a Wednesday, fifteen days after the winter solstice. It snowed hard that day, the wind so cold and gusty that Mummy was forced to deliver at home. My baby brother's birth was difficult; the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck so tightly it had to be cut into pieces using surgical scissors. William's lips turned violet whilst Mummy bled, screaming. He was spanked four times before he started to breathe. 

  I had nightmares for years.

 William almost died. If not for father's best friend, Dr. Davies, my brother would have been buried on his birthday. Dr. Davies' first name is Geoffrey, but father calls him Doc. The good doctor braved six miles of narrow country road to attend the delivery (Mummy's midwife was too afraid to drive). Later, after William pinked up and my mother was calm, the good doctor took my father aside to tell him that he had almost gone over the bridge due to ice. Father poured him several stiff drinks, and they clicked their glasses, singing "Cheers!" Mummy called the doctor William's guardian angel.

 The Anglo-Saxon variant of Geoffrey means "Peaceful Gift." I looked it up in The Encyclopaedia Britannica from our library. Saving my brother's life is the best gift the doctor could ever give my parents. He fell a bit short as far as William being a peaceful sort of present. Father says not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I looked up the meaning of that, too.

 Wednesday's child is full of woe, is that not how the children's rhyme goes? Isn't that rich? Life's little ironies mustn't let one down, however. I try to look on the bright side. 

 Euros was born on a Monday. Fair of face, indeed. Large hazel eyes ringed in black. Chestnut brown hair, ivory complexion. Pink, rosebud lips. Fair of face, foul of spirit. Mummy told father she barely felt the delivery. Three pushes, and Euros was born; violating the sanctity of my family. 

 "Fortune knocks but once, but misfortune has much more patience." - Laurence J. Peter


	2. Anomaly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Normality is a paved road: It's comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it." - Vincent Van Gogh

  William is not a "normal" child. I consider this a blessing. I myself am an rarity...as is our sister. What Euros is, specifically, however, well. I'd rather not speak of it. To be frank, I do not like to dwell on the truth of the matter, the odd things I see deep in her burnt umber eyes.

  Moving on. I am more intelligent than 99.5% of humanity, a fact verified by three separate psychiatrists in London Proper and and an Oxford professor (an old colleague of Mummy's). I've been tested quite extensively, you see. I do appreciate my parents' initiative in the matter. Mummy is rather a departure from the normal population herself. Divine providence, that...not that any deities in reality exist.

  Due to my superior intelligence, I am considered odd by most people; perhaps, something of an anomaly. I don't mind the ignorant insinuations; in fact, their paltry assessment of myself has afforded me the opportunity for independent study and the pursuit of excellence. I have no friends my own age, nor do I want any. I find other children incredibly stupid. Father is, unfortunately, quietly alarmed by my aloof behavior towards those of similar chronological age. I believe Mummy, as an intellectual adept as well, is more accepting of the situation. They quarrel in whispers whilst they think I am asleep. A ridiculous waste of time, as far as I am concerned. I am what I am, and am content with my personage. Normal people are inane.

  It is too soon for me to perceive the exact extent of William's mental acumen. He is only 690 days old, and skinny as a string bean. As I said, although I loath to repeat myself, my brother is not normal infant. He doesn't babble or coo, or smile, or cuddle. He only cries when hungry, which isn't often. The child is too busy examining the world as he sees it, through pale, silvery celadon eyes.

  The primary tint of his irises is well-nigh indistinguishable with that of my mother's, with one very unusual exception. Their eye color is analogous with Celadon ceramics (Goryeo dynasty: 918–1392. Yes, it is true that the technology devised to create the stunning jade glaze originated in China, but I myself believe that the Korean artisans of the 12th Century CE produced the most refined examples)* 

  I conducted a study specific to green hues three days after William's birth, mostly out of boredom. Snowed in, remember? I have my mother to thank for our family's extensive library of science, maths and ancient world history. I shall need to speak to Uncle Rudy soon in my desire to supplement our library by building a comprehensive collection of political history; preferably starting with the Uruk Period and Pre-dynastic Egypt (set at 3000 BCE)**. I might as well start at the beginning, wouldn't you agree?

  I digress.

  William was born with the gene mutation sectoral heterochromia, specifically hypoplasia^. In layman's terms, my brother has a distinctive lack of melanin in his irises - hence, their unusual paleness. In addition, he has multicolored patches of cerulean blue, ochre, yellow ochre, burnt umber, and are rimmed by a dark olive band. They are remarkable to study in variable degrees of light. I often do this when bored.

  The intensity of his gaze secretly frightens my father. Mmmm. Pardon. I must amend my previous statement, as I am fully aware of his private thoughts. He wears his feelings on his sleeve, as the saying goes.

  Euros is 324 days old. I shall not speak of her at this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *www.ancient.eu/article/945/korean-celadon-pottery/  
> and www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/cela/hd_cela.htm
> 
> **www.worldhistorysite.com/r&fCivI.html
> 
> ^www.heterochromiairidum.com/sectoral-heterochromia/


	3. The Best of Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft dilemma, Uncle Rudy, and a really posh frock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Normality is a paved road: It's comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it." - Vincent Van Gogh

  There are several reasons why William won't speak... three, to be precise. Mummy is quietly concerned, naturally. What mother wouldn't be? Going by the deep furrows around her mouth and the pronounced groove bisecting the bridge of her nose, Mummy's displaying classic tells for anxiety and/or fear. In addition, she chews on her bottom lip constantly... self-reproach. Her two front teeth are continuously smeared with red lipstick. Father knows better than to point this out. He may be an idiot, yet possesses a keen awareness of social decorum. 

  My mother's more adverse emotions have a negative effect on my own. Uncle Rudy's been instructing me on how to separate sentiment from sense. I find he's become something of a mentor. Mummy believes he's grooming me for civil service. I believe she might just be right.

  What personality traits does he see in me that he takes so much time. I am a fat, self-indulgent version of my mother; mother hen to my brother, vigilant minder of my sister. She's a mathematician. I hardly think genius is a requirement for governmental service. Hah, then again... Considering the state of the Commonweath, perhaps Uncle Rudy has a point.

  Irregardless, I have come to rely on his judgement.

  Today, two very small, but intelligent straws broke the camel's (shall I say, Mummy's?) back. After being subjected ad nauseum to yet another dour consult, my Mummy went off on a rant. Her behavior broke the bounds of propriety, I am pleased to report.

  Interested in hearing what happened? 

  Well, I am most pleased to oblige.

  By my mother's own admission, she went off her trolley at the doctor's. I do wish I'd been there to see her put paid to the testing; Mummy has quite a mouth.

  To be honest, I've never understood the logic of subjecting my siblings to yet another psychological screening. William gets bored. For fun, he chooses one of the more disturbing conditions he's researched from our collection of books in the library. You see, our parents are researching as well.

  Euros simply finds the tests amusing, and not worth her time or her effort. She prefers, instead, to built origami animals out of informational pamphlets from the waiting room. She's particularly good folding swans.

  In either case, their tests results are seriously skewed, and my parents' confusion increases. As for my Uncle Rudy, he claims that all doctors are rubbish. And, our library continues to grow.

  My mother later conceded that perhaps she had not used the best judgement in allowing the children to be present during the consult. No three-year-old deserves to be saddled with a hopeless diagnosis, or for that matter, witness to my mother's foul language. Euros doesn't care. Nothing more needs to be said about that.

  William, genius that he is, reacted accordingly. He neatly bisected Dr. Davies' stethoscope using a pair of surgical scissors from the man's desk. It is at this point that my mother made a hasty retreat - but not before Euros poked the poor man's eye with his otoscope. Father says his cornea has a good chance of healing.

  Interesting; Euros, defending my brother.

  The details became clear (most vociferously, might I add) during dinner. Dr. Davies' diagnoses raised Mummy's heart rate from 78 bpm to 112 bpm. Mummy's carotid artery (visible under the skin on her neck) literally pulsed from the strength of her ire. 

  Father, in an highly unusual display of ill humor, he being the sane one in our family, smacked his great hands flat on the table. They made a horrible ruckus - the man's hands are as wide across as chargers. He set the china to rattling.

   My poor, beleaguered little brother. He ran, small hands clapped over tiny pink ears. William's sensory organs are well-nigh preternatural, and very, very sensitive.

  William was born amidst chaos. It has followed in his wake ever since. As a result, he wasn't the only thing that sprung from the table. As if attached by invisible strings, one of my grandmother's Haviland Pompadour teacups and saucer, a dessert plate, the very full cream jug, two buttered scones (landing butter-side down, of course), three silver spoons, and a significant portion of the tablecloth ended up in a ridiculous tangle on the unforgiving slate tile.

  I cannot fathom how such a small child manages to initiate so much catastrophe.  _He is barely out of his nappies._

  Do I need to add that his stunt put an end to the squabbling? My two buttered scones now inedible. Euros gave a round of applause.

  This is the second tea cup he's broken this year, William being a mercurial child at best of times. Sociopath, indeed. An absolutely unfounded assumption. If people just bothered to  _think,_ or even saw how he communes with the bees...

My baby brother is so very sensitive - excuse me for repeating myself. I worry constantly about this little boy. He is too tender-hearted for our ill-mannered society. As the eldest sibling I feel it's my duty to protect my baby brother from harm. I try not to dwell on the potential risk for ruination stemming from our own family. 

  So-called "normal" people are so incredibly stupid. They never see the truth of what is right in front of their noses. The facts... hidden in plain sight. Whilst Dr. Davies is a fine example of a general practitioner, especially in light of the fact that it was his ingenuity and dedicated which saved my brother's life, the man is no Einstein. He sees, but does not  _observe._  Tragic, really.

  Currently, 88% of my brain is allocated for logical thinking and storage of relevant data. The remaining 12% has been divided as follows: 5% for my brother, 2.5% to keep an accounting of my sister's activities, and 4% for concealing my sentiments. I've afforded no energy for the analysis of Euros. Her psychopathy has fully been realized.

  I bemoan the idea that the general population is blind to so much; it is almost as if they have been denied the senses of sight, touch, or hearing.  _Oblivious_ , they are. Our country, the world, would be a better place if they saw half of what we do. My siblings and I, that is. On second thought, only William and I.

   Again...yes, I am being dreadfully repetitive, how can our doctor, how can  _anyone_ overlook the illuminating brilliance my brother displays - particularly whilst looking in his eyes? This frustrates me to no end. William sees all, parsing through situations and people like a farmer sorts eggs. It is second nature for him, for we Holmes children.

  How does Euros escape notice?

  We three use our skills in ways unique to our person. I use my knowledge to manipulate. William uses his to stay hidden. Euros, well. I believe that there is a part of my sister that yearns to understand all humanity. I regret that she has not the ability or skill. It will backfire on the world, one day, mark my words.

   *********

   Out of a sense of propriety, my parents have contacted a consulting paediatric psychiatrist at the University of Hull. The drive is not so far as to be inconvenient; and at any rate, my mother is fiercely determined to solve William's issues and break his long habit of silence. 

   My parents have decided that Euros should remain here at home.

  After three days of comprehensive evaluation and testing, they returned with a bevy of new information. A thick pile of paper sat, organized and stapled in Manila folders on the desk in the study. I ran through the results after they'd retired for the night. I am sure my siblings both have, as well.

   William has tested at genius levels, with an IQ estimation of 194, plus or minus ten points. It is the psychiatrist's opinion that William is undeniably competent with linguistics, primarily in the syntax and stratum of English lexicon. To my utter stupefaction, my little brother has finally chose to demonstrate his ability to read, both in English and French. I am much relieved, as are my parents. 

   He has been diagnosed as selectively mute. In addition, William's aptitude for maths and general logic astounded the doctor, who implored my parents to continue his assessment of my brother. They simultaneously agreed to leave at once. William will not be a showpiece.

   My father has forgiven my mother. Dr. Davies' cornea has made a complete recovery, thank goodness. Not surprisingly, he has unfriended my father.

   That is acceptable, I feel. The man himself is irrelevant.

  *********

  Whilst three-fifths of my family travelled to Hull, Uncle Rudy put on a fashion show. Personally, I find he has rather posh taste in apparel. In addition, I have come to the conclusion that Diane Furstenberg is a stylistic wonder. Wrap dresses really do accommodate all figures.

  I don't approve of Uncle Rudy's choice of footwear, however. He might break an ankle in those heels. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.hull.ac.uk/Study/PGR/PhD/Funded/2018/education-childhood-youth.aspx


End file.
